


Length of Love

by Rrrowr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Haircuts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam got a haircut. Castiel likes it, maybe. Sam isn’t too sure actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Length of Love

“Your hair,” is the first thing that Castiel blurts out upon appearing in the motel room.

He makes an aborted reach toward Sam, brows furrowing in distress, before his hands settle at his sides again. He circles around Sam once, head tilted, and Sam scrubs the back of his neck, feeling oddly self-conscious at the scrutiny.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says. “Weird, huh? I haven’t had my hair this short in years.”

He’s got proper bangs again and his hair is well above the edge of the collar these days. It’s good for the heat of summer, which is getting to be pretty sweltering now that they’re sweeping further south and getting closer to water. Castiel seems to find it interesting, too, when Sam explains this — as if the idea of cutting one’s hair to relieve physical discomfort is foreign. Considering that temperatures around here are upwards of 100F on good days even without the humidity and Castiel is still in suit and trench coat, Sam figures that Castiel wouldn’t understand physical discomfort if it gave him jock itch.

“Weird,” Castiel echoes. His face pinches as if that is not the word he wishes to use. “If you insist.”

*

Later, research is relaxed. Sam and Dean are crowded around the table, sharing the lamplight while they each try to find out what they can. Castiel, as he nearly always does, prefers to stand, but he leans over Sam’s shoulder when something needs to be pointed out to him. He braces himself with one arm on the table and gets so close that he’s breathing over Sam’s temple.

It’s not that Castiel’s proximity is something unusual, but it is the first time that Sam really notices because his hair, shorter and lighter now, flutter with each breath. It’s distracting.

“Interesting,” Castiel says, and thinking that Castiel is talking about the case, Sam tries to refocus on his laptop. Then Castiel moves his hand from the back of Sam’s chair to his neck. His fingers fit along his hairline with his thumb landing lightly behind one ear. “I hadn’t realized how long your neck was.”

Castiel gives Sam’s neck a slight squeeze. His fingers fit just around Sam’s vertebrae, pressing through tense muscle in a way that would be relaxing if Dean weren’t sitting across from them with his eyes wide and alarmed. Even so, Sam shivers.

*

Sam has mixed feelings on angels. There’s a disjoint between his belief and his knowledge. Take for instance: _assholes_ , which most of the angels totally are. There’s no easy way for Sam to connect his mental image of a benevolent, merciful, forgiving angel with the asshole angels he’s met already. There’s only Cas, who is an asshole sometimes but tries not to be. Castiel has their unparalleled concentration, the unwavering loyalty of a soldier, but he also has this curiosity in him for the human race. Cas wants to understand and that’s what makes him so fascinating.

Up until yesterday, Sam was sort of amused at the fact that the whole of Castiel’s inquiries on human life seemed to begin and end with Dean Winchester. Having Castiel refocus his attention to Sam all because of a haircut is sort of disconcerting — not the least of which is because Dean’s description of feeling like he was being _cut and flayed opened_ under Castiel’s stare is completely and entirely accurate.

Still, it’s one thing to feel Castiel’s unblinking stare on the back of his neck. It’s something else to have Castiel rescue him from a demon and promptly check his head for concussion by sliding his hand into Sam’s hair.

“You’ll be okay, Sam,” Castiel informs him confidently — which, _yeah_ , Sam kind of figures that because he knows how to take a hit.

Nonetheless, his breath hitches when Castiel’s hand strokes down to cover his nape and his mouth parts on a groan and — “Sam?” Castiel says, concerned — how the hell does Dean even stand to be near the guy when his touch sparks this simmering urgency under Sam’s skin.

Castiel bends closer and a scent like ozone and wet earth wafts between them. “Sam, can you hear me?” 

“Yeah,” Sam gasps and promptly shivers as Castiel’s hand grips his scruff minutely in relief. Sam grasps onto Castiel’s lapel for stability and lets himself get dragged to his feet. He claps Cas on the shoulder and absolutely does not bow his head when Castiel’s fingers fan out under his hair. His voice wavers, however: “Y-yeah, I’m good.”

It’s a lie though. Sam’s never felt more shaken.

*

For a couple months, Sam doesn’t cut his hair. Castiel continues to watch him but with a decreasing frequency as his hair finds its old length, and he and Dean acknowledge it without talking about it. Sam knows that he should be grateful that Castiel’s scrutiny was waning, but with every passing week, Castiel’s gaze comes to rest on Sam less and less. He shouldn’t miss it or the gut-rolling, tremulous alertness it instills in him, but he does.

Across the table from him, Dean coughs, grunts, and excuses himself to get a drink in quick succession. It’s weird, but Sam forgets about it when he feels Castiel’s undeniable presence behind him.

“Sam,” Castiel greets when Sam turns to face him. He lowers his eyes. He seems contrite. “I wish to apologize. I was made aware that I’ve been causing you some distress.”

Denial is immediate and strong, but when Sam stands, Castiel steps close. His hand rises. It slips inside Sam’s collar, under the curtain of his hair, and then finally comes to rest, splayed broadly over his neck. Closing his eyes against the intensity of feeling that slides into his bones, Sam tries to stay calm. Castiel steps closer still, pressing into Sam’s personal space in a way he only ever did Dean’s. He’s so close that Sam can hear the tightly controlled quality of his breathing and the soft, slick sound of him wetting his lips.

“What is this?” Sam asks. “All because I got a haircut?”

“No,” Castiel says. His breath sharpens, irritated, and Sam opens his eyes in time to see Castiel’s expression shift into uncertainty. He corrects himself: “Yes. In a way. You seemed younger, more vulnerable, and I didn't expect the way I would react to that.”

“Dean has short hair,” Sam feels inclined to point out.

A smile flits across Castiel’s mouth. “Yes. Dean's always had short hair. You're different, Sam.”

“Different,” Sam says, testing the word out. 

“Yes.”

That single word is whispered between them. There’s something in the way Castiel says it — like there’s more to it as there had been more to the haircut to Castiel than just a couple inches in length — and Sam can’t help dropping his attention to Castiel’s mouth or noticing the way Castiel’s hand tightens infinitesimally around him. Kissing Castiel comes hard on the heels of the realization that he actually wants to do it, that Castiel wants him to do it. They twist to get closer, and as Sam opens his mouth around Castiel’s lower lip, Cas makes this sound — small and constrained and wonderful. It’s nothing at all for Sam to want him to make it again. Behind him, though — because the universe is apparently conspiring — the motel door swings open, and Sam and Castiel break apart just as Dean lets out a surprised holler.

“Whoa, sorry,” Dean says, going back and forth between a smug grin and outright confusion. “I thought you were just gonna talk.”

“We did talk!” Sam tells him defensively as he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. It comes away wet, and when he glances over at Castiel, his tongue is sweeping over his lower lip in a way that is suddenly, really distracting. Dean laughs, drawing Sam’s attention again. “We did!”

Skeptical, Dean lifts his brows, like he’s ready to wait Sam out until he gets the truth. 

“We talked,” Castiel insists and Sam slumps gratefully into his chair. “It was good, our conversation. Very good.”

“Uhuh. And how ‘bout the, uh—” Dean spins his finger in the air in front of him. “That thing.”

Sam looks up at Castiel and finds that Castiel is already watching him out of the corner of his eye. He’s smiling a little and Sam mirrors it unconsciously.

“It’s good,” Castiel tells Dean.

Dean nods, lips pursing. “Just good?”

“Better than the talking,” Castiel amends and just as Sam feels prepared to take a nosedive into a pit of never ending embarrassment, Castiel ensures that Sam will never make a return trip by saying: “I look forward to doing it more.”

Dean merely claps Cas on the shoulder. “Awesome,” he says. “Great! In fact, let’s never talk about this again.”

“Please,” Sam groans. 

“But just so you know, Cas.” Naturally, Castiel perks a little at Dean’s bright, conversational tone. “If you break his heart—”

Sam swats immediately at the threatening finger Dean is pointing at Castiel. “Oh my god, Dean, he’s not going to break my heart!”

Both of Castiel’s hands come up to rest comfortingly over Sam’s shoulders. Though Sam is still scowling because of Dean, he looks up and Castiel is gazing down at him fondly.

“We’ll be fine, Dean,” Castiel says. “Thank you.”

*

#and then they lived happily ever after and stuff and stuff


End file.
